


The Spirit of Giving

by angesradieux



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Gen, Questionable teddy bears, Ugly Christmas Sweaters, sort of enemies to sort of friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angesradieux/pseuds/angesradieux
Summary: Athelstan is a graduate student who's volunteered to run the donation table at the local mall for his church's annual toy drive. He just wants to support a good cause and spread some Christmas cheer. Floki sees a new plaything who's trapped behind a table and can't run away.
Comments: 27
Kudos: 17





	The Spirit of Giving

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: So, this is just a crack fic. I wanted to write a Christmas fic, but I honestly didn't have the energy to research early Medieval Christmas traditions or what the Vikings typically did for Yule, so I settled on a modern AU. I ended up with Floki and Athelstan because as much as I grew to dislike Floki in later seasons, I honestly loved his chaotic energy from early seasons, and he just seemed to make sense here. I hope they don't come off as too out of character. Thoughts and feedback are always much appreciated! I hope at least someone enjoys reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Happy Holidays!  
> ~Anges

The Christmas season has finally arrived, bringing with it the annual toy drive. Athelstan tried to be as involved in his church as he could. He attended Mass and volunteered when and where he was able. But, the life of a graduate student wasn’t always the most conducive to active participation in the life of the church. Because sometimes, yes. All fifteen of those books _did_ need to be read this week, and he couldn’t put off starting that paper any longer. Frequently, even if he managed to make it to Mass, the rest of the week he had to hunker down and do little beyond schoolwork.

But, it’s December. That means his final papers are done—mostly, anyway—and classes have officially ended. There’s still work to be done, but the winter break means more free time than he’s had in months. So of course he agreed to man the table for the toy drive this week.

The day began with such promise. He’d donned his absolute tackiest Christmas sweater—a truly stunning piece sporting the angel Gabriel on a black backdrop, complete with the Christmas star above a barn. Was it hideous? Indescribably so. Did Athelstan love it beyond all reason? Absolutely!—and his crucifix and headed down to the mall to set up. Christmas music blasting and tinsel and lights as far as the eye could see, the spirit of the season was positively infections.

Was.

Now, after several hours, Athelstan’s finding the general public isn’t quite so generous as he’d hoped. Most put their head down and quicken their pace, lest he try to draw them in with conversation. Once in awhile, someone will drop a handful of spare change. And yes, there’s the odd donation of a dollar, or even a toy. Still, he wonders if the smattering of dollar bills and couple toys is _really_ worth having to listen to _Santa Baby_ for the umpteenth time.

He tries not to let it get him down. Despite his flagging spirit, he smiles at those passersby who deign to look at him, offering a bright “Merry Christmas.”

Finally, someone makes eye-contact.

A tall, lanky man clad in leather saunters over.

“Good afternoon! I’m with St. Joseph’s Church, and we’re collecting toys for underprivileged children in the community, to spread some joy this Christmas season. Would you care to donate?”

The man’s eyes rake over him and his lips twitch.

“Hmmm. So this is what Christmas is about, is it?” Athelstan puffs up a little, ready to talk about the joy of giving and spirit of the season. But before he gets a chance, the man clarifies, “Toys?”

“What? No!” He huffs out a breath of frustration. “It’s about Christ! And embodying the love of God, and giving to others.”

Catlike eyes twinkle with amusement. “Of course, of course. But, then, why don’t you teach the children about that? And then they can have a perfectly lovely Christmas without toys.”

“Well, maybe toys aren’t _necessary_ , but they’ll make people happy! And if we’ve the means to help I don’t—”

“Ah, but you don’t have the means, do you? Else you’d not be out here begging, would you?”

Athelstan scowls. Of course _this_ is the person who’d approach him, rather than scurrying right on by. He would have preferred being ignored. “What better time than the holidays for us all to come together as a community to help each other,” he counters.

“What’s your name?”

“Athelstan.”

“Floki.”

He is already leaving by the time Athelstan thinks to point out that he hadn’t asked.

Athelstan watches him go, shaking his head. No point in letting it get to him. He finally has time to climb down from the ivory tower of Academia and do some good in the world, and he is bound and determined to spread the Christmas cheer.

Day one is a bit of a bust. He comes away with some cash and a few toys, but not quite what he’d hoped for. In the past, they’d had to enlist the help of about a dozen volunteers to get all the gifts wrapped and packaged. Still, it’s early in the season. They’ll get there.

Athelstan just needs to step up his game a little.

The following day, he breaks out his ugly Christmas sweater for the second time. This time, a Santa hat joins it. Athelstan practically skips into the mall—an entire day away from books and paper writing had done him good. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so energized.

He sets up his own speaker on the table, to give himself a little more control of the day’s playlist. True, it may not be able to drown out the endless choruses of _All I Want for Christmas is You_ , but it makes it a little easier to ignore.

It also gives him an idea.

Athelstan pulls a notebook and some pens from his bag. Sipping his peppermint mocha, he writes a sign in careful, neat lettering, complete with sketches of Christmas bells and holly around the border. He’s grinning ear to ear as he props it up on the table.

_I’ll sing one verse of a Christmas carol for every toy!_

Not that he needs much prompting. Athelstan’s already humming.

Eyes bright, he scans the people walking and, when he spots someone who seems a little less hurried and flustered, he gives a big wave. “Merry Christmas, Sir! Wouldn’t you like to be serenaded?” He gestures to the big, cardboard box beside him, coaxing, “One toy is all it takes, and I’ll have a carol just for you.”

Athelstan swells with triumph as the man makes eye contact and smiles, before turning and heading back into the store.

He returns with a plush toy, which he sets on Athelstan’s table. He quirks an eyebrow, as if doubting whether he’ll make good on his promise of a song. “Many thanks, sir! And, as promised…”

It seems fitting that _The First Noel_ is also the first carol of the day. While his voice is untrained, it’s a pleasant and light tenor with a natural vibrato. He stays true to pitch, and the song rings out like a bell. The unexpectedness of someone singing in the middle of the mall catches the attention of a few other people, drawing them over to his table. One or two drop some cash into his jar, and he is perfectly happy to oblige them with a song as well. Another walks away, but returns promptly with a basketball to donate.

Sure enough, Athelstan finds himself cheerfully going through his repertoire of carols as donations begin to roll in. His selections are largely sacred, but no one seems to mind too much. And if any _do_ happen to have particularly strong feelings about wanting a specific song? Well, Athelstan is more than happy to negotiate—perhaps a second donation might convince him to take a request.

Somewhere along the way, he becomes aware of a familiar pair of eyes watching him. But he chooses not to pay any mind to the leather-clad man from the day before.

At least, until said man approaches his table again, a smirk on his lips.

He sets a box on the table. “Well? Where’s my song?”

Athelstan is faced with a very nicely packaged set of shot glasses. Surely, this must be a joke. He looks from the box, back up to Floki, waiting for the punchline. Unperturbed, the man prompts, “Preferably not one of those boring ones you’ve been doing, hm?”

“I can’t take this.”

“Why not?” He tries to look the picture of innocence. “Not very _Christian_ of you to turn away a donation. What would your Christ say?”

As much as he tries not to take the bait, Athelstan feels himself bristling. His tone is a bit clipped as he returns, “Because these gifts are going to _children_.”

“But didn’t you say Christmas was about serving _others_? And even if the little ones won’t appreciate it, their parents surely will. A teachable moment, no?”

Athelstan gives a little huff of frustration, but today his smile barely falters. He simply insists, “Unfortunately, generous as it is, I’m afraid can’t accept this. You can have your carol if you come back with something else—a teddy bear, perhaps?”

Floki shrugs. “Awfully choosy for a beggar.” He turns to leave without taking his shot glasses with him. Athelstan calls after him, but he pretends not to hear.

Prick.

Athelstan sets them aside and continues doing his best to charm busy shoppers into stopping by his table.

This time when he packs up, he has much more to load into his car and drive over to the church. All in all, a much more successful day, although he still has to figure out what to do with Floki’s dubious contribution. There has to be something they can do with them. Fodder for the next white elephant auction maybe?

Sure, Floki just wanted to bait him. But what better revenge was there than to find a blessing where it wasn’t intended?

The following day sees Athelstan pulling a different, but no less horrible Christmas sweater from his closet. This one features a large, gold cross with “The reason for the season” embroidered in red and green, over a backdrop of snowflakes and evergreen trees. Bolstered by his success the previous day, his guitar makes the trip to the mall with him as well.

It’s an old beater, but with a good set of strings and a practiced touch, it’ll get the job done. He gets himself set up and begins to play, alternating between strumming chords and picking out melodies. When someone seems to linger, intrigued by his playing, he offers a charming smile. “I’d be more than happy to sing the song that goes with it.” And then he gestures towards the jar and carboard box, waiting to be filled by the benevolent public. “You get a song _and_ you can walk away knowing you’ve put a big smile on a child’s face. Seems like a win, win situation, no?”

And so begins another day.

“Are you going to be doing this all season,” one woman asks.

“Well, I’m just here for the week,” Athelstan explains. “But the toy drive runs until the nineteenth. Then we take a few days to get everything sorted and wrapped, and by Christmas we’ll have distributed everything to help provide a joyful holiday for families in need.”

He beams as she promises to stop back again.

It should have been a perfectly enjoyable day. Making music, spreading Christmas cheer, and supporting a good cause—how could it get any better? Except a frustratingly familiar voice chirps, “Athelstan! I was hoping you’d be back!”

Fuck.

His eyes narrow as Floki plops a bag down on the table. “I think you owe me a song.”

“Look, I appreciate your generosity, but I don’t think—”

“Oh, just open it!”

“What—”

“It’s a teddy bear! Just like you asked for.”

The mischievous glimmer in his eye makes Athelstan very much doubt that, but if it’ll speed things along, so be it. He opens the bag and indeed, there is a teddy bear. Except, it’s dressed in a black, faux-leather hood and a harness, with matching cuffs on its paws. He feels his face flushing as he hastily shoves the offending bear back in its bag. “I don’t… What… Where did you even _find_ this?!”

“What? You said you wanted a teddy bear. I don’t see the problem.”

“I explained to you yesterday! These are gifts for children. This is hardly appropriate.”

“Well, if the clothes are that much of a problem, I suppose you _could_ undress him. I don’t think he’d mind.” The wink that follows causes Athelstan’s face to glow redder than Rudolph’s nose.

He can’t find the words to respond. He opens his mouth, but then quickly shuts it again and lets out an irate huff. Finally, Athelstan just folds his arms on the table and puts his head down. “Just. Go.”

Floki obliges but makes no move to take his ridiculous “donation” with him. The shot glasses were easier to swallow. But this? How is he supposed to bring this absurdity back to the church? Part of him desperately wants to throw it at Floki and demand he take it with him. But, Athelstan asks himself _what would Jesus do_? Jesus would, no doubt, take the stupid bear home, cut away the offending outfit and make it into a perfectly nice gift. So Athelstan shoves the bear into his bag, resolving to fix it later. Jesus would probably _also_ pray for someone whose life was so empty that he felt the need to antagonize people just trying to do something nice for others. Athelstan likes to think he’s a good Christian, but he has to admit, he isn’t quite _that_ good.

At least Floki’s leaving.

Thank the Lord.

He turns and waves, cackling, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then!”

Athelstan’s brow creases. “Maybe I won’t be here tomorrow!”

“What? And break the promise you’ve made to your fans? And here I thought lying was a sin!” He looks entirely too pleased with himself as he snickers and continues to strut away.

Blue eyes turn towards the Heavens as Athelstan asks what, for the love of all that is good and holy, he could have _possibly_ done to deserve this.

At the end of the day, Floki’s bear is set aside when Athelstan drives his donations to the church. Whereas all the other, perfectly sensible gifts made their way into closet ear-marked for toys, and the cash donations to the lockbox, the bear stays in his car, and when he gets home it takes a pair of scissors and a fair amount of determination to cut away the faux leather bondage attire, and a couple split seams see him reaching for a needle and thread.

Still, once he’s made the necessary repairs and tied a piece of bright, red ribbon into a little bowtie, he imagines that the teddy could make a perfectly suitable gift.

Day four, his enthusiasm flags a little. His steps are slower as he crosses the parking lot, trying to imagine what his own, personal pain in the ass might come up with today. On the way to get himself set up, he stops for two large gingerbread lattes, each with an extra shot, because one just isn’t going to cut it. It’s something of a miracle that he makes it to his table, carrying both cups of coffee, his guitar, and his shoulder bag without dropping anything, but he manages.

Athelstan arranges his table, transfers both lattes into a large thermos, and begins to tune his guitar. Before long, the caffeine hits, and Athelstan’s cheerfully strumming away to entice a crowd. He notices a few familiar faces from previous days, stopping by once again to drop a few dollars into his jar.

He chats and laughs and sings. Time ticks by, and he almost dares to hope that perhaps Floki has given up.

However, a set of costume jewelry—a strand of faux pearls and matching earrings—clatters onto his table.

Smirking lips and twinkling eyes tell him that there’s some kind of catch to this. He picks it up suspiciously, inspecting the item for… Well, he doesn’t know what, exactly. Athelstan just knows there has to be _something_ wrong with it. Except, he can’t find it. By all appearances, the necklace and earrings are perfectly normal. He relents, saying warily, “Thank you, Floki. I’m sure this will make a little girl very happy.”

“Oh, no. That’s not a donation,” he purrs.

The trap has been sprung.

Athelstan arches an eyebrow. “Then what, pray tell, _is_ this for?” In hindsight, it’s a stupid blunder. He really should have known better than to ask.

“Well, you’ve been doing so much metaphorical pearl clutching, I thought it a shame you didn’t have an actual set to wear. So, here you are. A gift from me to you.”

Athelstan looks Floki in the eye as he promptly deposits the pearls into the box with all the other donations. His smile is strained as he says, “Thank you for your donation.”

He hopes that will be the end of it, but Floki isn’t leaving. He watches Athelstan for a moment before pouting. “Aren’t you going to sing for me?”

“What?”

He gestures to the guitar. “You’ve deemed this an acceptable offering, no? So?”

“Do you even _like_ Christmas carols?”

“Does it matter?”

Blue eyes flash. “Very well. I think I know just the one.”

Athelstan takes up his guitar and strums a chord. With just the sweetest expression he can muster, he sings, “ _You’re a mean one, Mister Grinch! You really are a heel!”_

Rather than taking offense or leaving, Floki throws his head back and howls in laughter. “Oh! The little choir boy _does_ have some bite!” When the verse finishes, he looks Athelstan over and decides, “I like you.”

Great.

A long finger flicks to the evergreen trees on his sweater. “Almost as much as I like those Pagan symbols you wear.”

“That’s not—”

Any protest he may have made is brushed away with a wave of Floki’s hand. “Tomorrow!” He smirks. “I’ll let you have a good, long think about it tonight, and tomorrow you can tell me all about how those evergreen boughs have anything to do with your Christ. I’m sure by then you’ll come up with something perfectly amusing.” His tone is so patronizing it’s almost a surprise that he doesn’t try to give Athelstan a pat on the head.

Still, at least today Athelstan can leave without anything that requires either repairs or an explanatory note attached to it before it can be dropped off at the church. He returns home to contemplate evergreen. Really, he knows Christmas trees and garlands have nothing to do with the church at all and the association of boughs of pine and holly with the solstice did indeed predate the Christmas tradition. He’s fully aware that he’s grasping at straws, but he doesn’t want to give Floki this victory.

Today’s ugly Christmas sweater is red. The focal point is three white crosses, and the phrase “Christmas begins with Christ” in gold lettering. Above and below it is a line with a pattern of smaller crosses and little doves, and then another line of hearts. Not a single Christmas tree to be found, though if questioned Athelstan would dismiss it as mere coincidence. Because no. He is _absolutely not_ self-conscious over one heckler.

At least this time, Floki has the decency to stop by earlier in the day. Athelstan prefers this to waiting all day. Better to just rip the band-aid off.

He musters a sigh at the sight of a bag in the other man’s hand. With a flourish, he presents a recorder. His eyes flick from the instrument, back up to Floki. “Alright. What is it this time?” He can see nothing vulgar or inappropriate in the instrument, but he knows better than to take it at face value.

Floki tilts his head as if confused by the question. He watches and waits a moment, expectant. When no moment of realization comes, his eyes crinkle. “You’ve not spent much time around children, have you?”

Athelstan doesn’t answer, but the truth is, he really hasn’t. He volunteers to assist with the children’s choir from time to time, but he can’t say he has spent a great deal of time with kids.

“They absolutely love things like this,” Floki insists. “And you obviously appreciate music, yes? What could be wrong with fostering a love of it from an early age, hm?”

He can’t find any reason to object, so he places it in his box. Today, Floki doesn’t need to prompt him for his song. Athelstan takes up his guitar and launches into a chorus of _O Tannenbaum_. In German, just because he can. There’s a certain defiance in his expression, as if he’s daring the other man to object to his choice.

Whether Floki understands the German or simply recognizes the tune Athelstan can’t say, but his eyes widen as if he’s just remembered something, and he grins, “Oh, yes! Do tell me. What of those Christmas trees? I see you’re not wearing any today.”

Athelstan lifts his chin. “Evergreens are constant and unchanging, even in the harshest cold of winter. Likewise, the love of Christ is with us always, in times of prosperity and of hardship. We also see it used as a sign of forgiveness and eternal life in Heaven, as in _Tannhauser_. It reminds us that God sent us His only begotten Son as a sign of His love, that we might find redemption through Him.”

“Well, I suppose if that’s what you choose to believe I can’t stop you. Even if is utterly ridiculous.”

He doesn’t argue. Athelstan is just relieved that Floki is on his way and he can enjoy the rest of his day surrounded by much more agreeable people. At the end of the day, he will once again drop the fruits of his labor off at the church, blissfully unaware that among them is an instrument of the devil, insidious in its perfect harmlessness until placed in the hands of a young child.

By the sixth day, Athelstan has acquired a handful of regular visitors aside from Floki. He flushes with pleasure as he finds a small gathering already waiting for him when he arrives to set up his table. Pride may be a sin, but he indulges in it for a moment, convinced that this is going to be the best year yet.

If this momentum continues for the rest of the season, they’ll be able to provide some truly wonderful Christmases.

Today, he’s brought more than just his guitar and his repertoire of carols. He has two more days, and he intends to make them count. So he laughs as a request for a song comes. “Give me one minute.” He sets a platter on the table and carefully arranges gingerbread men and sugar cookies in the shape of Christmas bells. No donation strictly necessary for a treat, but obviously whatever people saw fit to give would be greatly appreciated.

Once he has his tray of cookies set up, he begins to play, offering both sweets and entertainment to all who stop by.

“Busy last night, were you?”

“Don’t tell me you have something against Christmas cookies.” Athelstan doesn’t see how it’s possible— _no one_ hates cookies. But if anyone could manage it, he’s sure it would be Floki.

He plucks a gingerbread man from the tray and snaps the head off. “So tomorrow’s the last day, is it?”

No. Today’s the last day. So sorry. He wants to lie so badly, but he doesn’t. Instead, he confirms, “Yeah.” His lips curl in a bit of a smirk. “After that, I suppose you’ll just have to irritate someone else.”

“Ah, but what if I don’t _want_ to irritate someone else?”

Athelstan shrugs. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

“Hmm. Perhaps I will.” He’s not sure he likes the speculative look on Floki’s face. “I’ll bring you something special tomorrow, then.”

“I can’t wait,” Athelstan deadpans.

“Oh, don’t be such a grouch! You’ll like it, I promise.” He winks, and then takes another bite of his cookie. “Not bad,” he muses. “But I prefer a little more spice.”

“Noted.”

Athelstan scribbles a note to check to see who’s taking over for him and warn them about his daily visitor. Unless Floki truly doesn’t intend to move on to a new target, in which case Athelstan can only ask what was so, very special about him. As much as he’s enjoyed the last week, he can’t say he’s _entirely_ sorry that it’s ending.

He heads home to get another batch of cookies in the oven. He sticks to his usual recipe for the gingerbread, because the balance of spices in his cookies is just fine, thank you very much.

He doesn’t forget Floki’s promise of something _special_. If the teddy bear is anything to go by, he can’t even imagine what kind of obnoxiousness he could come up with if he really puts his mind to it. It builds a sense of anticipation that lingers throughout the day.

He tries to shake it off and ignore it, but every so often he finds himself craning his neck to see if the time of reckoning has come. As the hours tick by, he almost dares to hope that all his worrying might have been for nothing. Maybe he’ll stay away—perhaps the promise was just a silly mind game. Slowly, he allows himself to relax and just enjoy the day. It isn’t until he’s about to start packing up to leave that he sees the all too familiar man approaching, an unnervingly large box in his arms.

He sets it down. “Go on. I know you’re curious.”

Athelstan lifts a wooden toy boat from the box. As he turns it over, trying to figure out the puzzle, all he can see is beautiful craftsmanship. Floki’s watching him with a cat-like grin. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”

“I know it is. I made it.”

“What’s the catch?”

“Hm?”

“There’s always _something_! Nothing’s ever straightforward with you.”

“So suspicious. It’s just a gift!”

Athelstan lets out a huff.

“Well. Maybe there is _something_ I want.” He leans down to rest his elbows on the table. “Let me buy you a drink.”

He coughs, blue eyes going wide. He looks rather like a deer caught in the headlights. “What?”

“Come for a drink with me. We’re friends now!”

“What?”

Floki rolls his eyes as if Athelstan’s just about the stupidest person in the world. “I _told_ you I like you, didn’t I? And you don’t seem like the kind of person who would have other plans.”

He isn’t entirely wrong. Athelstan hadn’t had anything on the agenda for the evening, except perhaps getting some reading done. But somehow spending the night with the man who’d spent an entire week baiting him doesn’t seem like a better option.

“What happened to the spirit of Christmas, hmm? Making people happy?”

He barely resists the urge to smack his head against the table. Instead, he asks, “If I say yes, will you leave the other volunteers alone?”

“Yes, fine. If I don’t may Thor strike me down.”

Athelstan grimaces, but chooses not to comment on the unusual oath. Best to pick his battles, and he’s sure the next one won’t be easily won. “Fine, but coffee.”

“What? Coffee? _Why_?”

“I don’t drink.”

Floki snorts. “Of course you don’t. I suppose I’ll just have to teach you.” However the glare leveled at him has Floki holding his hands up in mock surrender, “But another time.” He picks up his boat and offers, “I’ll help you carry. A little thing like you couldn’t possibly manage all of this. I’ll even help you bring it inside your boring church.”

“Are you sure you’d make it inside without being struck by lightning?”

Floki only laughs. “This settles it. One of these days, we’ll see how well a little liquor loosens that sharp tongue of yours.”

For now, Athelstan doesn’t say anything to correct the assumption that their plans for this evening are anything more than a one-time thing.

It is Christmas, after all.


End file.
